


Truths and Trickery

by Bramadian0336



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Love Triangles, Mischief, Redemption, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Trickster Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bramadian0336/pseuds/Bramadian0336
Summary: Rosalyn is a mutant, a shape-shifter who uses her powers to give her clients whoever they need. She’s hired to help one of the Avengers adjust to his new life, after being on ice for 70 years. A lot has changed in the world, and Steve Rogers could use some assistance figuring it all out. But when a mischievous trickster takes a liking to her, his games could complicate things.Note: Set after the first Avengers film, Loki has stayed on Earth to make amends for his actions.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 164





	1. Ch. 1

**New York, 2012**

It has been too long since Rosalyn had a job. She can’t stand the downtime, preferring to stay busy. Her line of work is unique, and no two jobs are ever the same. She likes to think of them as puzzles, each client a case that she has to approach carefully. Her strategy is usually the same: getting close to the individual, and figuring out just what it is they require.

Some are after comfort, others just want companionship. Occasionally, she’ll get a client who doesn’t even know what they want. Not until she pulls it from their mind, taking the shape of whoever it is they’re secretly craving.

When Mica finally called with an offer, Rosalyn hurriedly agreed to come in. Just a few hours after the call, and she now finds herself in Mica’s upscale office. They’re on opposite sides of a sprawling desk, the dark surface a shiny expanse between them.

It’s evening already, and her handler would ordinarily be in a rush to get things done. Yet, Mica seems to be drawing it out. She appears reluctant to talk business, busying herself with pouring drinks instead. Only when she can find no other distractors does the other woman settle down, rocking back into her office chair to cross one leg over the other.

“This is a…unique client,” Mica says delicately, wrapping her red lacquered nails around the stem of her wine glass. She takes a sip before nodding at the matching glass before Rosalyn.

Rosalyn isn’t much for wine, but she lifts the glass anyway. She takes a polite taste of it before sitting it back down on the desk. “I’ve had unique clients before,” she answers, unconcerned.

“I know. That’s why I’m offering it to you,” Mica explains. “It’s going to require the…utmost discretion.”

“Then I will be discrete,” Rosalyn assures.

“I’m afraid a verbal commitment isn’t going to cut it,” the other woman sighs. She drains the remainder of her wine, setting the glass down with a clink. Mica hesitates for another moment, before finally sliding a folder across the surface. When Rosalyn looks at her questioningly, she only nods at it.

She reaches out to flip open the folder, her eyes greeted by the front page of a legal document, a Non-Disclosure Agreement. Now _that_ was intriguing. Rosalyn takes the pen Mica holds out, and signs on the line with a messy X scrawled in front.

She flips the folder closed, giving her handler an expectant look. Mica pretends to be examining her nails, picking at a cuticle. Rosalyn gives an unamused expression, waiting for the other woman to stop beating around the bush. Finally, Mica caves.

“The client is a member of The Avengers, but-”

Rosalyn shoves her chair back with an abrupt motion, standing. “You know my answer to that,” she says quickly. “The same answer as the last time they bothered me.”

“They aren’t trying to recruit you,” Mica insists.

“Bullshit,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

“Roz, would I call you in about a job if it weren’t a serious offer? You know me. I don’t waste your time and I don’t hand you bullshit. This is legitimate,” Mica rushes to explain. “Tony Stark wants your assistance with one of his super powered buddies.”

Rosalyn hesitates, but she can’t help her paranoia. This wouldn’t be the first time Tony Stark has tried to lure her into his fancy tower. He’s expressed his fascination with her powers on more than one occasion, and she doesn’t trust the man. Growing up with the abilities she did, she learned quickly enough to assume that everyone interested in her was looking to use her in some way. She’s yet to be proven wrong.

“What do super heroes need with me?” Rosalyn asks.

“Are you familiar with Steve Rogers-Captain America, I mean?” Mica asks in return.

“The entire world is familiar with Captain America,” Rosalyn retorts. “What about him?”

Mica takes a deep breath. “Tony is worried that Rogers is having a hard time adjusting to the new time period. He said he seems withdrawn, keeping to himself when not training or working.”

“I don’t blame him,” Rosalyn admits. “It would be a shock to be woken up decades after you thought you were dying. The world is so different now, he’s probably overwhelmed.”

Mica chooses her next words carefully. “Exactly. I thought with your…unique history, that you could relate to him. Get him to open up, help him to adapt.”

Rosalyn scans Mica’s expression, looking for any signs of ulterior motives. When she sees none, she lets herself lean forward slightly, in the barest show of curiosity. “What exactly would the goal be?”

Mica’s posture relaxes, and she reaches for another file folder. She slides it across to Rosalyn, who opens it to reveal a picture of Steve Rogers. She recognizes him immediately, after seeing his face plastered all over the news for more than a year now. Beneath it is his biography, though much is redacted with thick black lines. She flips through the pages, noting that more of the file is blacked out than visible.

“Tony said Rogers is guarded with the other Avengers. He doesn’t have a confidant, anyone to open up to. He also doesn’t have friends outside the team. It’s been a while since they pulled him out of the ice, and he doesn’t seem to be making progress,” Mica summarizes. “He assumes that Rogers could use someone to talk to, and perhaps get him out of the tower and into the world a little more.”

“Have you communicated to Stark that if he attempts to recruit me at any point, I will walk?” Rosalyn checks.

Mica nods immediately. “Of course. He knows your position. He’s insisted this is purely about Rogers.”

Rosalyn ignores the lingering suspicion towards Tony Stark. She will probably never trust the man, but she could use the work. He’ll likely pay well, and it’s better than the alternative of staying bored and unemployed. Besides, she does feel sympathetic towards Steve Rogers. What he’s going through can’t be easy, and she’d like to help if possible.

“Fine,” Rosalyn says finally. Mica grins immediately with relief, probably thrilled that she’s managed to sell her on it. The other woman’s commission on a job like this will be substantial.

“I’ll get a final contract drawn up and sent to you,” Mica says.

“I’ll need to get close to Rogers, to get an initial read,” Rosalyn reminds. “I assume Stark can set that up?”

“He said to stop by any time tomorrow. He’ll get you close enough to do your thing,” Mica assures her. “I don’t think you’ll regret this, Roz. You can retire on what he’s offering to pay you.”

Rosalyn smiles, but it’s a hollow gesture. Mica never did seem to understand that while the money side of it was necessary, allowing them both to live more than comfortable lifestyles, it wasn’t the point. She’d been born a freak, an oddity of nature. She had come to terms with it over time, and stopped questioning why she had to be this way. But her work was the only way she’d found to make use of herself, to factor a place for herself in the world.

There was no point trying to communicate that, however. So instead, Rosalyn says, “Sounds good.” She grabs the file on Rogers off the desk before she walks out the door.

**The Next Day**

Tony Stark’s work space is impressive, she has to admit. Rosalyn peers around the lab, watching his high-tech equipment perform tasks on its own. She can’t tell if it’s just very advanced automation, or guided by a limited AI system. Either way, it supplies her with an abundance of things to watch while she waits for Steve Rogers to stop by.

“Should be any minute,” Stark reassures her, from underneath a piece of machinery. He’s only half visible, his upper body rolled underneath whatever he’s working on.

“That’s fine,” she remarks. The tower had looked even more massive pulling up to it in person than it did on television. She’d only seen the lobby and the R&D level they’re currently in, but Rosalyn imagines it might take a few minutes to travel around the building.

“You, um,” Stark starts to say, before pausing. He rolls out from underneath the slab of metal to shoot her a curious gaze. “You look like that? When you’re not…you know, working?” he asks curiously.

Rosalyn glances down at her body. She’s in the disguise of a very ordinary looking middle-aged woman, modestly dressed, her hair and makeup conservatively plain. She shrugs. “It’s what I wear, when I don’t want to be memorable.”

Stark sits up, the curiosity growing on his face. “But that’s you? When you aren’t someone else?”

Rosalyn narrows her eyes. It figures Stark would use the downtime to try to figure her out. “I’m always me, regardless of what I look like,” she answers unhelpfully.

“Okay, sure, yeah,” he agrees, standing up. “But, you’re… female? Like naturally? Or do you not have a, you know, innate sex?”

She rolls her eyes, unable to help the irritation Tony Stark triggers in her. They’ve only met a few times, and yet every time he manages to annoy her. He can’t seem to contain his curiosity, or the thousand questions it drives him to ask. The man never seems to sense the line until he’s marched right over it, brash and oblivious.

“Are you asking if I was born with a vagina?” she asks sharply. “Seems a bit invasive for what is supposed to be a professional relationship.”

Stark holds his hands up, seeming to realize he’s gone too far. “Right, you’re right. That’s my bad. I’m not trying to be offensive-”

His rambling non-apology is cut off by the elevator opening. They both turn to see Steve Rogers exit, and begin striding over. His attention goes right to Tony, giving her more than enough time to scope him out. He’s tall, and his clothing clings to the muscles the serum must have given him. It’s strange to see him in casual clothes, after always seeing him in his Captain America getup on the news.

“Tony,” he greets, before giving her a polite nod. “Ma’am.”

She murmurs a hello, but can feel it when he’s close enough. Her power isn’t strong enough to read thoughts. She can’t pull memories or spy on someone’s thinking. But it suits her needs all the same, letting her access enough of the person’s mind. She can always pinpoint what they need, what they desire that the rest of humanity has yet to provide them.

A few seconds near Steve Rogers, and it becomes apparent. The man from a different time lacks connection. He doesn’t feel he can relate to anyone since he woke up, isolated in a world that is not his own. His desire is bare and raw, the need to connect to another human, to feel he fits with someone. It’s almost painful, and she swallows hard as she mentally retreats.

Rosalyn avoids looking at him, even as she knows what form to take for him later. She pulls it from him, the way she can pull it from anyone. She’s been doing this since she was a little girl, and probably before she can even remember. It’s almost instinctual, taking the shape of whatever the people around her need her to be.

“So, Cap,” Tony begins briskly. “I sent you that new suit sample, and you never did tell me what you thought of it. You know that’s a new fiber polymer, state of the art-”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow with a hint of irritation. “You called me and said you needed me down here, urgently,” he points out.

Stark nods in confirmation. “Uh, yeah? It is urgent. What do you think of the suit?”

Captain Rogers gives up on concealing his irritation, openly giving Tony a look of disbelief. “The suit’s fine, Tony.”

“ _Just_ fine?” Stark presses. “I work hard to make your ass look good, and I get _just_ fine?”

Steve rolls his eyes and begins his escape, back towards the elevator. “The new suit is good,” he calls back. “Next time, just call me.”

When the elevator doors have slid closed, Tony gives her an expectant look. “Well? Did you get what you need?”

Rosalyn nods. “Yes. I’ll be ready. When should I plan on meeting him, officially?”

“I’ll let you know a good time. Shouldn’t be too long,” Stark replies. He furrows his brow at a banging sound, turning around to identify the source. Rosalyn peers passed his shoulder, where some sort of robot has began clanging on something with a wrench.

“Ah, no no! Dum-E, stop! We talked about this!” Tony shouts, hurrying across the lab.

Rosalyn raises her eyebrows at the spectacle of Tony Stark, wrestling a wrench off one of his creations. He begins lecturing the robot, his voice stern. She takes the opportunity to slip away, before he can fire any more invasive questions at her. The elevator takes her back to the lobby, and she departs the tower quickly. She doesn’t notice the shimmer that follows along behind her, stopping only once she’s exited the main doors.


	2. Ch. 2

**Days Later**

Rosalyn took a few days to adjust to the new form she’ll be using for Rogers. Yet on the night she’ll meet him for the first time, it still feels a little foreign. She’s surprised by how curvaceous the shape she’d pulled from his mind is. Though, the clothes she’d bought help to keep her look classy. Her hair is brunette, very long and curly. It’s a nightmare to comb out after a shower, something she ruefully doubts a man would consider when thinking of his ideal woman.

She pulls it up partially, letting a few tendrils frame her face. It’s a beautiful face that she’s wearing, and that part is less surprising. In her experience, when a man wanted a woman, it was typically one of two types: maternal or beautiful. Of course, there were plenty of male clients that had wanted men, either in a friendly, fatherly, or romantic way. But something about the classic beauty looking back at her in the mirror seems almost obvious. Steve Rogers had predictable tastes, in that way.

She keeps her makeup natural, but adds red lipstick. Then Rosalyn waits, for the inevitable text from Tony Stark. When she gets it, she heads outside. The car waiting on her is luxurious, sent by Stark himself. The driver insists she sit in the back, so the drive to the tower is rather dull. It’s already night outside, the lights of the city glaring off the glass.

When they arrive, she makes her way towards the elevator. She follows the directions Stark had sent, and true to his word the elevator doesn’t resist when she requests the residential level. Down a lavish hallway, and she finds herself outside the doorway to Steve Roger’s guest apartment.

Rosalyn takes a deep breath before knocking, trying to hold her nerves at bay. She always gets this strange blend of excitement and trepidation when beginning a job. It’s worsened by the fact that she doesn’t know how a man like Steve will react. He may be resistant to her. Stark may have overreached in hiring her, and if so, this whole thing may end sooner than it begins.

She hears the door unlock a moment before it opens, Rogers’ face appearing. Perhaps she hadn’t looked closely enough at him the other day, as she suddenly feels unprepared. His handsome face, so close to her now, steals the greeting from her lips. He looks confused for just a moment. His gaze drops from her eyes, down over her figure quickly, then back up to her face.

His expression changes, rapidly, into one of frustration. Steve groans, shaking his head as he looks away from her. “I told Tony-I don’t need this,” he says, half to himself. 

Rosalyn just raises her eyebrows, unsure how to take that. She mentally prepares an argument for herself. Though she hasn’t even managed a greeting yet, perhaps she’s aiming too high. Regardless, the sight of a pinkish blush creeping into Steve Rogers' cheeks stops her. She’s taken aback, wondering if the solder is embarrassed. 

“I’m so sorry to have wasted your time,” he says earnestly, meeting her gaze once more. “I promise he’ll still pay you, but I really don’t need-”

“You haven’t even given me a chance,” Rosalyn points out gently. If he would just let her introduce herself, they could at least chat.

Steve splutters a refusal, the blush only growing into an undeniable red shade. “I’m not the type to-this isn’t my thing, I don’t-It’s not you,” he says, seeming to find his words at last. “I just don’t believe in paying a lady for something like that.”

Rosalyn’s brow furrows as she begins to understand that there may be a severe miscommunication. “I’m sorry, do you think I’m a prostitute?”

She may as well have slapped Rogers right across the face, because he looks both shocked and mortified. “Are you not? I’m so, so sorry-”

“I’m not here as a hooker, Mr. Rogers,” Rosalyn assures awkwardly.

“This is a really big misunderstanding. Tony, he said-never mind, I am so sorry, miss,” Steve rushes to apologize.

She gives a small, placating smile, attempting to wave him off. “It’s alright, please let me explain,” she suggests. When Steve nods, his expression suggesting he’s struggling to contain crippling shame, she continues. “While you are correct that Tony has paid for my services, I am not here to have sex with you in return for that payment.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Steve replies, frowning. “I don’t know why I did that, it’s just very late, and you’re a very beautiful woman-”

“I’m only here so late because I was informed you just returned from a mission,” Rosalyn points out.

She feels bad, as Steve looks like he’d prefer for the earth to open wide and swallow him whole at the moment. She blames Stark, who had clearly said or done something to plant the notion in Rogers’ head to begin with. Clearly, she’d need Mica to have a little conversation with the billionaire to clarify how this all worked.

“Of course, Tony probably told you to come now,” Steve says, nodding. She notices he’s suddenly quite fixated with his shoes, the floor, the walls, and just about anything but looking her in the face.

“Yes,” she confirms. “I’m something of a life coach. May I come in? Maybe this will be less awkward if we both have a seat.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, hurrying to open the door wider for her. He gestures for her to enter, and she steps into the entryway. Steve shows her to the living room, while she tries to ignore how diminutive she feels beside him. This form is shorter than average, and combined with Rogers’ height, she feels dwarfed.

“Can I get you anything? Wine, or something else?” he asks politely.

She nods. “Wine would be great.”

When he returns a moment later, they both take a seat. Rosalyn on the couch, Steve across from her on the edge of an arm chair. She forces a sip of the liquid down before opening her mouth to begin her explanation. Steve beats her to the punch by a millisecond.

“You said you’re a life coach?” he asks. “Do you have a lot of experience coaching men who were frozen in the ocean for 70 years?”

He smiles slightly, as if to buffer that he’s calling her out on how underprepared she likely is. Rosalyn returns the smile, deciding to be honest. From what she’d read in his file, Rogers seems like a man who would appreciate forthrightness.

“No, none,” she replies. “Also I would like to admit, my form is not coincidental.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I am a mutant. My power is something like a shapeshifter. I’ve learned to use it to help my clients, appearing in the form that they most need,” Rosalyn explains. “Interesting that the form you needed, you mistook for a prostitute.”

She gives a soft smile to show she is teasing. Steve looks down nonetheless to take a sip of his wine, his demeanor hinting that he is still somewhat embarrassed over their introduction.

“I’ve never met an enhanced person who can shapeshift before,” Steve replies thoughtfully.

“Oh, I’m not enhanced. No one experimented on me or gave me a magic serum,” she corrects quickly. “I was just born this way.”

“I apologize, but someone told me that-” he hesitates. “That mutant was a derogatory term.”

Rosalyn just shrugs. “I’ve met some of my kind that dislike the term, yes. But it doesn’t bother me. Biologically speaking, it’s what I am. It’s what many people are, without even knowing. It just so happens my mutation is a bit more extreme.”

Captain Rogers finally meets her eyes for more than a brief glance, allowing himself to search her gaze. There’s curiosity in his expression, enough that she thinks she might have won herself at least a conversation. She was worried he’d give her a few minutes to be polite, before ushering her out. Perhaps talking about herself a bit might intrigue him enough to get her foot in the door.

“So, you’ve made a career out of using your power to… be what people need?” Steve ventures. “Why?”

“Everyone needs something,” Rosalyn answers. “Socially, most people feel a void, someone they are missing. Almost everyone also has a mental picture, for what that person may look like to fill that void. I’ve learned people are much more open to assistance, if it’s offered by the right person.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “Why did you decide to help people?”

Her eyebrows twitch upwards, taken aback. It’s a basic question, and yet no one has asked her it before. “I…” she hesitates, looking away from the blue eyes now studiously focused on her. “I suppose it helps me feel better about what I am.”

Steve sits his glass down. “I don’t mean to be rude, miss, but… I don’t know that you’re going to be able to help me.”

She smiles. “Maybe not. But I did come all the way over here tonight, so perhaps we could just talk?” she tries. It’s a cheap shot, and she knows it. But Steve is old fashioned enough that it works, playing on his reluctance to be anything but a gentleman. He nods, before giving a sigh.

“I guess you have me there. It’s not like I’d have anything else to do tonight,” he admits. “I usually just listen to music alone.”

Her smile grows at the mention of music, even as she ignores the pang of sadness his admission gives her. “What kind of music do you like?” she asks.

**Late That Night**

It’s past midnight before she leaves, shaking off Steve’s offer to escort her down to her car. The tower is secure enough that she insists she will be fine. Steve nearly makes it to saying goodbye before he realizes he’d never asked her name. Rosalyn introduced herself before bidding him good night, walking alone to the elevator.

The ride down to the lobby is silent, and she suppresses a yawn. The elevator has nearly reached the ground floor, when a man appears in the corner opposite her. Rosalyn gives a startled yipping sound, flinching back from the sudden intrusion.

The man smiles, sending her heart hammering away in her chest at the shock. She recognizes him immediately. Tall, with long black hair, pale skin, and a devious smile. The black suit is far different than the green armor she’d seen him donning on the news, but she’s quite positive he’s the same man. Loki, the god with a lower case g, who had attacked New York and hung around to pay penance for the crime.

“Well,” he drawls. “What an interesting creature they’ve brought into the tower.”

“Loki?” she takes her guess, clenching her hands so it doesn’t show that he’s scared her enough to shake. “Brother of Thor?”

His smile falls immediately, at the same time the elevator doors slide open. “Adopted.”

“Uninterested,” Rosalyn rebuts, dodging past him to enter the lobby. For a moment, she thinks he’s let her go. But then he pops up out of thin air, right in front of her. She has to stop before she runs into his chest.

“But I’m so interested in you,” Loki insists. “Is this really what the repressed soldier desires?”

He circles her, eyeing her openly. If she had felt dwarfed around Steve Rogers earlier, she feels absolutely shrunken now beneath Loki’s predatory gaze. He finally stops when he’s in front of her again, his lips quirking in a smirk. It’s a sinister looking expression on the god. Particularly when she remembers the footage of him destroying half the city not long ago. 

“Voluptuous, indeed,” Loki remarks slyly.

“I don’t discuss my client’s private matters with strangers,” Rosalyn hisses, both intimidated and irritated with his prying. She knows enough about Loki to know he can be dangerous, but surely he isn’t an outright threat to her. Not if they’re allowing him to just pop around Avengers tower, unguarded.

It emboldens her enough that she can muster a glare, darting around him. Loki keeps up with her easily, staying by her side.

“Then let’s make ourselves acquainted,” he suggests. “I’m Loki, Prince of Asgard. You are Rosalyn, a mutant that Stark has hired to service his favorite soldier.”

She narrows her eyes at him but continues onward, focusing on the lobby doors. “Do you spy on Stark, to know that?”

He only smiles mischievously, not answering her question. “Now that we’re acquainted,” Loki says, “How does your power work, darling mutant?”

Rosalyn gives a huff, coming to a stop to survey the persistent space prince. Perhaps if she gives him a demonstration, it will shut him up. She searches his impulses, but struggles for a moment. There’s something strange about Loki’s mind, and it’s hard to pull a specific archetype from his needs. In fact, he doesn’t necessarily have an appearance associated with what he needs most. It’s a problem she’s yet to encounter, and she frowns at him.

Loki seems to sense that he’s throwing her off, his smile growing. She furrows her brow, trying harder. _There_. She can identify what he would find most attractive, and she changes herself into it as quickly as she can. It can be tiring to change form, but Rosalyn forces herself to do it rapidly for effect.

She grows taller, by quite a bit, while her curves lessen. Her hair stays just as long, but it lightens into a sunny blonde shade. The curls tighten, twisting like tendrils down past her breasts that shrink, becoming petite but perky. Her clothes are too large now, lacking the ample chest and hips to fill them out. She can’t see her face, but licks her lips, finding them full and soft.

Rosalyn raises her eyebrows expectantly at Loki, hoping she’s proven her point.

Loki only laughs, quirking an eyebrow back at her. “Not bad. Not what intrigues me, however.”

Her face crumples into a look of disbelief. She’s never gotten it wrong. Had he purposely misled her?

“Is this not what you desire?” she asks.

“Oh, it is very desirable,” Loki says, in a tone that suggests he’s humoring her. “Pulled straight from one of my adolescent fantasies of a few centuries ago, I believe. But not what I’m after.”

Rosalyn loses her patience. “And what are you after? Tell me, or let me go. It’s late, and I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”

He steps closer, cocking his head slightly as he surveys her with rapt attention. Though she is taller now in this shape, she still has to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. Rosalyn does her best to not show that she is still feeling the smallest bit afraid, regretting not taking Rogers up on his offer to walk her out. 

Loki finally speaks, his voice now smooth and low as he admits his goal. “I’m curious what you really look like? When you aren’t molding yourself in accordance with the needs of others.”

She looks away, shaking her head slightly. “I have no true form.”

“That can’t be,” Loki disagrees immediately.

When she looks back at the Asgardian, she feels bitterness seep up from somewhere she normally keeps it locked away. She doesn’t like talking about this with people, especially not ones that look at her like a specimen in a laboratory. She doesn’t need anyone else asking questions she doesn’t want to answer. First Stark, and now this gothic alien royalty. She’s had enough.

“I’m leaving. Now,” she snaps. She steps around him, relieved that he doesn’t follow this time. Loki lets her push through one of the main doors unobstructed, and head out to the car that waits to take her home.


	3. Ch. 3

**Four Days Later**

When she returns to the tower, she takes copies of The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind with her. Rosalyn thinks it’s best to bond with Steve over things that are familiar to him first, before trying to pull him out of his shell. He’s had enough of a rough reawakening in the future, she thinks. Perhaps a little time with things from his past will provide comfort.

She paid attention to the type of wine he served her before, picking up another bottle of something similar. She had also made a special trip to the Upper East side to get pastries. There is a bakery there that had been in business since before Rogers was born.

Rosalyn is grateful when the door opens and Steve welcomes her in. He looks a little caught off guard by her appearance, but doesn’t argue like last time. His dark blonde hair is wet, as if he’s just showered. Somehow it only adds to his attractiveness, which she does her best not to dwell on. Nothing good could come from getting a crush on a client. She’d managed to avoid it this long, after all.

“Tony didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?” she guesses when he shuts the door behind her.

“He sure didn’t,” Steve confirms, taking everything off her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Rosalyn apologizes immediately. “I assumed he’d asked you if tonight was good. I don’t mean to turn up unexpectedly.”

He gives her a small smile, though it appears genuine. “Well, if you wanted to give me your phone number, I could just contact you myself?”

“Somehow, I imagine cutting Stark out as the middle man to be a good idea,” Rosalyn agrees. “Though, if tonight is a bad time for you-”

“No, no,” Steve rushes to reassure, sounding a bit guilty. He looks down at what he’s holding awkwardly. “I could use a break, from-Glaser’s?”

She smiles hesitantly when he recognizes the name on the bakery box. Steve moves over towards the coffee table to put the wine down, pulling open the box and grinning broadly at the contents. It’s a smile she hasn’t seen from him yet, managing to break all of the severity from his features.

“I had no idea they were still in business,” he admits.

“Have you been there before?” Rosalyn asks curiously.

“When I was a kid, a couple times. We didn’t have a lot of spending cash, back then,” he explains, pulling one of the black and white cookies out. He immediately bites into it, making a barely audible sound of content at the taste. She feels a rush of success at the satisfaction clear on Steve’s face.

“They taste exactly the same!” he mumbles excitedly, before realizing he’s talking with his mouth full. He sheepishly covers his mouth until he can swallow. “Thank you,” he adds, now able to speak clearly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth. It gave me an excuse to walk into a bakery,” she jokes, drifting over towards his television. There’s a neat line of DVDs on the shelf beneath it, and she looks them over curiously. “This is a very… strange combination of movies.”

Steve groans as he finishes off the cookie. “Tony-he gets me one any time he makes a reference I don’t understand,” he says.

“That would explain a lot,” Rosalyn remarks. Like, for example, the overwhelming presence of 80’s and early 90’s films. Or the random combination of iconic classics with movies that were probably best left forgotten.

Steve seems to notice the films that she’s brought, shooting her a skeptical gaze. “First the cookies, then Wizard of Oz…I might think you’re trying to win me over with relics from the past,” he suggests.

Rosalyn’s eyes catch Steve’s, as she hears a teasing tone to his voice. It’s nearly flirtatious, and she searches his expression for a moment. But he keeps a poker face, giving nothing away. She laughs slightly, shrugging as she abandons the attempt to read him for the time being. He is smart, and she’d known her play would be obvious to him.

“Perhaps not the most subtle approach,” she admits. “But they say to start with what you know when you’re learning, and go from there.”

“Well, you don’t have to listen to Glenn Miller and watch old movies to appease me,” Steve points out. “I can’t imagine that is your idea of a good time.”

Rosalyn puts a hand on her hip, giving him a challenging look. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Rogers, that I quite enjoy your taste in music. They still play that stuff for swing dancing.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise. “People still swing dance!?”

“Yes,” Rosalyn confirms, before she adds, “If you go to the right place, that is. If you go to the wrong place, you’ll just get a lot of grinding.”

“Grinding?” he repeats, seeming to infer enough by the word to look unsettled.

“Um, yes,” she says awkwardly. “But I’ve been to a few of the swing dancing clubs around town. They’re pretty fun.”

“You dance?” Steve asks. His voice changes, however. It grows a little more distant, suggesting she’s accidentally touched on something that was to be avoided. 

“I do. Do you?”

He shakes his head, and she can tell she’s hit a wall by the change in his expression. He looks suddenly closed down. She marks it as something to circle back to much, much later. Rosalyn rapidly changes direction for now, grabbing one of the DVDs from off the shelf to switch topics.

“Well, if you don’t want to watch one of my old movies,” she begins. “We could always watch… Point Break?”

She holds up the case, making an exaggerated face of disinterest. Steve scoffs, admitting, “I’d rather not. Maybe Wizard of Oz would be nice, for old time’s sake.”

“I am in full agreement,” she says, giving him a reassuring smile.

Steve’s eyes flicker over her face before he returns the smile. Rosalyn could get used to seeing Steve Rogers smile. There was something innocent and yet contagious about his grin. But she snaps herself out of it, diverting her attention from Steve to the DVD player. It doesn’t seem to want to turn on, however. After just a few seconds of her struggle, Steve notices.

“Oh, yeah. I um… I didn’t bother setting that up,” he admits.

**Later**

It’s barely 9 o’clock, the movie only halfway through. Yet Steve is crashing, hard. Rosalyn’s eyes keep tracking from the yellow brick road towards the couch Steve is sprawled on, his eyes barely open. He’s got the stubbornness of a child, however, refusing to give in to sleep. If she didn’t know better, she might think the wine and cookies are to blame. But she suspects alcohol probably doesn’t affect him, after whatever they’d done to make him a super soldier. 

She shifts in her chair to study him a bit closer. “How long has it been since you had a good night’s sleep?” Rosalyn asks curiously.

“Huh?” Steve asks, spaced out. He pushes himself up slightly. “Oh…I don’t need as much sleep as other people.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “But how long since you slept last?”

“A few days,” he admits.

Her eyes widen at the response. Super soldier or not, he must be dead tired. Judging by her little experience with him thus far, however, asking why he wasn’t sleeping probably wouldn’t get her a straight answer. Perhaps when she earns his trust a bit more, they could broach the subject.

For now, Rosalyn stands, intending to leave so he can rest. Steve sits up, suppressing a yawn. “I’m going to go,” she says. “So you can get some clearly needed sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he insists. The yawn wins out despite his attempts to fight it, and he has to cover his mouth.

“Mmhmm,” she humors him. “You can call me and let me know a better time.”

Steve frowns, but he abandons resistance. “Alright. I’ll make you dinner next time, to make up for it.”

“You can cook?”

“I can. Did they leave that out of my file?” He gives her a wry smile, standing and rolling his shoulders from where they were crumpled into the cushions. Rosalyn’s eyes can’t help but take in the muscles moving beneath his t-shirt before she catches herself.

“They did,” she admits. “Or maybe it was redacted on purpose. You can’t have everyone knowing that kind of sensitive information.”

“True,” Steve agrees. “My enemies could really use that against me.”

Rosalyn grins, snagging a cookie from the box on her way to the door. “Don’t leave me hanging, or I’ll have no choice but to go public with your culinary prowess,” she threatens jokingly.

They say their goodbyes, and she leaves. Rosalyn tenses up as she approaches the elevator, hoping there isn’t a repeat of the last time she’d taken it down from Steve’s floor. She has hardly forgotten her last experience at the tower, when Loki had nearly given her a heart attack. Luckily, she makes it all the way out to her car without running into anyone but some harmless looking assistant of Tony’s. No space princes appear out of thin air, so she considers herself safe for the evening.

Rosalyn is almost regretful when the car drops her off at home. She’s still wide awake, and dreading the thought of having to find something to entertain herself. Though as she lets herself into her apartment, she can’t help but think of her earlier conversation with Steve. It’s been forever since she’s gone dancing.

**Midnight**

Rosalyn’s breathless and warm from exertion, but it’s been a very long time since she’s had so much fun. Her first few dance partners of the night had been alright. Not terrible, but perhaps not the best lead either. One had been far too timid, and she’d practically ended up leading him across the dance floor.

But her current partner is exceptional. She’s having a blast, nearly able to forget everything but the music and reading the smallest of cues from him. He has a way of maneuvering her exactly where he wants her to go, his guidance firm but gentle. Rosalyn gives him a smile as the song concludes. She can’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed dancing with a man this much. Certainly not any time in the last decade.

“Do you need a break?” he offers, as the next song begins. It’s much slower, and she can tell she’ll be able to catch her breath with the lazy pace.

“No,” she answers. “Do you need one?”

He grins back mischievously. “Of course not. I could dance with you all night.”

He turns her in a lazy spin, before catching her and urging her back closer. Rosalyn examines his face, finding something about his smile to be familiar. Yet she’s positive she doesn’t recognize his face. He’s good-looking and tall, with short, black hair.

He leans down, to speak lower near her ear. “Something on your mind, darling?”

She stiffens in his hold at the term of endearment, though he seems unaware. He just pulls back to give her that self-indulgent, mischievous smile once more. He keeps their rhythm to the music, each step of his automatically triggering her to follow him, even as her mind is distracted.

“Do I know you?” she ventures.

His grin only widens. “We have been acquainted before, yes.”

Her movements stop abruptly, as her suspicion builds. Rosalyn takes a step back, breaking loose from the arm that he’d draped around her. She pries her hand free from his, searching his teasing gaze with disbelief.

“Should I give you a hint?” he offers.

“Loki.” She only breathes it, so quietly she can barely hear herself say his name. But the stranger’s face lights up with delighted humor all the same.

“Shame the soldier didn’t take you dancing himself,” he muses. “You’re quite talented.”

Rosalyn turns and strides away, weaving between dancing pairs towards the exit. She’s at a loss for words, and would like to avoid a scene. Unfortunately, her temper is flaring. It’s unusual for her to feel so angry, as she normally is quite even tempered. But something about the demigod’s trick is making her feel livid as she practically runs out the door.


	4. Ch. 4

Why was Loki, Prince of Asgard, messing with her? What exactly was the point of all this? Rosalyn is both surprised by his strange fixation with her, and irritated beyond belief. And how had he known she’d be out dancing? She rushes down the steps, in a hurry to avoid any further interaction with the trickster, who is clearly up to no good.

She barely makes it a handful of steps into the cool night air when he catches up to her. Or rather, appears right before her.

Loki’s dropped his disguise, materializing from the air as himself. Rosalyn doesn’t pause, dodging around him and ignoring the wicked smirk on his face. But he swivels to start walking alongside her, keeping pace easily.

“Leaving already?” he taunts.

“Please, leave me alone,” Rosalyn requests tersely, speeding up. It’s useless. He’s so much taller than her, that even sprinting she’d probably not be able to get away.

“Leave you alone? But you were just enjoying my company,” Loki points out, amused.

Rosalyn stops, turning on him. He may be a powerful Asgardian, but he’s on her last nerve. She’s tried ignoring him, and that clearly isn’t going to work. She glares up at the prince, who returns the expression with a cool smile.

“How did you know I go dancing?” she demands. “Were you spying on Steve’s apartment?”

“Is it spying if I happened to see the security feed?” Loki asks innocently.

Rosalyn’s brow furrows with confusion. Of course, Stark’s tower was loaded with cameras. But she would have thought they were confined to public areas. “Security feed?” she presses. “You mean… Are there cameras in the apartment?”

Loki’s smile grows. “Among other things.”

She grits her teeth, annoyed at this news. She’s willing to bet Steve is clueless about any monitoring devices in his living area. Assuming Loki is telling the truth, that meant Stark had a lot of explaining to do. Of course, she knew better than to assume Loki was being truthful.

“Regardless, that was a private conversation,” Rosalyn snaps. “And that doesn’t explain how you knew I’d be at this club.”

“I followed you,” Loki says, as if it’s obvious. He doesn’t show a shred of shame at admitting such a thing. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“Why did you follow me?” she rebuts, ignoring his question.

“Why are you still looking like this?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at her. “I thought you would drop the illusion when it wasn’t needed.”

Curiosity shows in his eyes, hinting at a deeper fascination. Is he really that intrigued by her power? Clearly, Loki possesses his own powers which are far superior to the single trick she can do. Rosalyn can’t fathom his persistence, or why he had danced with her for so long before revealing himself.

“It’s not an illusion, it’s a physical change,” she corrects with a sigh, exasperated. “Is that really why you’re doing all this?”

He takes a step closer, which she immediately matches with a quick shuffle back. The movement doesn’t evade his notice, and he cocks his head slightly. He takes another step, watching her curiously for a reaction. Rosalyn realizes she can’t move again, the wall of the building too close to her back.

“It’s not just your ability,” Loki admits. “You’re…unusual.”

She raises her eyebrows in a challenge. “I’m a mutant. Unusual is kind of a given.”

His eyes narrow, even as he makes a dismissive gesture. “If you insist,” he replies. “I must admit I was eager to see you dance, and you did not disappoint. Much better than most mortals.” 

She frowns, nerves getting the best of her as his eyes stay fixated on her. Darting a look around, she notices they are essentially alone. There’s a single pedestrian across the road, but he isn’t paying them any attention. It’s late, and other than the club, there aren’t many bars on this block. When her gaze returns to Loki’s, he looks like he’s enjoying her discomfort with the situation. 

Rosalyn lifts her chin, stubborn pride making her ignore how intimidating he is. “Thank you. I’ll take it as a compliment that a prince of Asgard appreciates my dancing.”

Loki’s eyebrows twitch upwards, and she relaxes a bit when his smile turns less predatory. “It was very much intended as a compliment,” he assures. “But it is late, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” she says, taking the opening. “I think I’ll be heading home.”

“Of course,” Loki agrees smoothly. “I’ll walk you.”

Rosalyn panics for a moment, scrambling for an excuse to turn him down. But then she realizes that if he’s been following her, he must have already seen the building she lives in. Any attempts to keep the demigod from knowing her home address were already futile.

“Alright,” she accepts after a long moment’s pause.

Loki says nothing about the delay, gesturing instead at the sidewalk in front of them. They settle into pace together, and Rosalyn tries to stay calm as they walk. He’s done nothing to suggest she needs to fear him, despite continually startling her. But based on his reputation with the world, that was far from out of character for Loki. His tricks were probably just how he behaved. Still, she catches the sly glances he gives her.

“You don’t have to keep checking,” she points out. “I’m not going to suddenly look different.”

“Are you that fond of being the soldier's dream girl already?” he jabs. 

Rosalyn rolls her eyes. “No, it’s draining to change forms. I can’t do it frequently.”

“Ah. Is that why Stark hasn’t added you to his team?” Loki asks quickly.

She avoids meeting his gaze as they approach a busier road, turning the corner towards her building. Her pace picks up slightly, in a rush to escape his questions.

“Stark has tried before,” Rosalyn admits tersely. “I’m not interested in running around the world with his merry band of misfits, wearing spandex and getting shot at.”

She’s surprised when Loki laughs, the sound coming out authentic rather than the sarcasm she’s heard before. Her lips quirk, wanting to smile at the way it changes his face. The genuine smile that lingers on his features after the laughter dies is almost contagious.

“Understood,” he says lightly. “I believe this is your building?”

Rosalyn realizes they’ve come to a stop, tearing her eyes away from Loki’s smile to glance upwards. He isn’t mistaken, they’ve already arrived. She had been too distracted to notice, apparently.

“Well, thank you for walking me,” she murmurs uncertainly.

Loki’s eyes dart between hers, that curiosity from earlier still lingering within them. Then, he gives a nod in place of a goodbye. When he vanishes, she’s left standing alone in front of the door to her lobby.

**The Next Day**

Rosalyn is happy when Stark doesn’t leave her waiting for long. She’s barely taken a seat in the fancy lobby of his tower when Stark himself appears, gesturing for her to follow him towards one of the elevators. He looks busy, snacking on something as they walk.

“What brings you around?” he asks. “Everything alright with Operation Thaw?”

They step into the lift, and she gives him a skeptical look once the doors slide closed. “Operation Thaw? I was unaware my service had a codename.”

“Codenames make everything sound more exciting. Don’t you feel cooler now?” he questions.

“Um…no,” Rosalyn answers bluntly.

Stark gives her a sour expression. “Fine, I get it. You’re above codenames. Anyway, what did you need that couldn’t be a phone call?”

The doors open, and she follows him off the elevator into his lab. He immediately gets distracted by something on his workbench, barely paying attention to her. Rosalyn considers how to approach the subject, before deciding on being direct.

“I wanted to ask if it’s true you have surveillance equipment installed in Steve Rogers’ apartment,” she explains.

He freezes, his brow furrowing. “What? Of course not.”

Rosalyn suspects immediately that he is lying, detecting unease in Stark’s denial. “So, Loki is lying then?”

“Loki!?” Stark repeats, before his confusion is slowly replaced with irritated understanding. “When did you talk to Loki?”

“Recently,” she answers vaguely. “Was he lying, or do you spy on your superheroes?”

Tony looks offended, trying to wave her off. “It’s not-I don’t spy, okay? Everything is monitored by an AI system, for security purposes only. Nobody’s eyes see it.”

“Except that Loki’s eyes did,” Rosalyn argues. “And if he could access footage from Rogers’ quarters, then he likely can access footage from anywhere in your tower.”

“Son of a-”

“Does Steve know about his lack of privacy?” she presses.

Stark’s anger dissipates quickly. “No,” he admits, before rushing to add, “And he shouldn't know. I’ll cut the feed from Rogers’ apartment and improve the security on the system so Loki can’t get in. But if you tell Steve about it…” He hesitates, before sighing. “I don’t want him to lose trust in me. Okay?”

Rosalyn lets him hang for a moment, ignoring the pleading in his eyes to watch him squirm just a bit. But then she relents.

“I won't tell him, as long as you stop. Why do you think I came to you first, and not Steve?” she reassures. “The last thing he needs is to feel even more alienated from one of the few people he’s formed a relationship with.”

Tony nods, looking relieved. “Good call. I appreciate it. Did Loki happen to mention _how_ he got into the system, because that firewall should be airtight.”

“I have no idea,” Rosalyn answers. “I didn’t exactly want to prolong the conversation.”

“Right-What’s up with that? He’s not, um, bothering you, is he?”

She considers that, before shrugging. On one hand, nothing Loki’s done has been hostile or threatening. On the other hand, it also hasn’t been wholly welcome. But Rosalyn finds herself surprisingly reluctant to complain about it too much to Stark. Loki likely had a hard enough time getting along with the rest of the team.

“Depends what you define as bothering,” she answers carefully. “I think he’s curious about what I can do, but it’s harmless.”

“Alright, well…if he crosses a line, or anything, just tell me,” Stark assures. “His brother will kick his ass back to an Asgardian prison if he is too much trouble.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure that will be unnecessary,” Rosalyn says.

Stark nods, holding out the packet of whatever he’s been snacking on. “Sure. Coffee bean?”

She stares down at the contents, wrinkling up her nose. “I’m sorry, you’re just eating whole coffee beans?”

“They’re chocolate covered,” he insists defensively.

“I… I don’t think that makes it any better, Stark,” Rosalyn sighs, heading back towards the elevator. He makes a dismissive sound, waving her off.


	5. Ch. 5

**Days Later**

Rosalyn gets a text from Steve that he’s running late around the time she’s about to leave her apartment. She kicks her shoes back off, resigning herself to the couch to wait. There’s a small stack of books on her coffee table that have been sitting there long enough to accumulate dust. She doesn’t feel like diving into one now, however.

Rosalyn tries to relax, but her mind inevitably wanders to thoughts of Loki. The mischief maker has been lingering in her brain since she last saw him, despite her best efforts to not think about him. She can’t stop trying to read into his actions.

Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to read into anything with Loki. His mind was closed off to her when she’d tried to pull from his subconscious, and his behavior hasn’t helped clue her in. Rosalyn’s best guess is that he wants something from her. But what?

Surely, he didn’t need to learn from her. He can already disguise himself, and apparently in a much easier fashion than her natural talent. Was he interested in exploiting her ability for his own purposes? He must be after something, and Rosalyn is determined to figure out what that something is. 

She ends up on her phone, doing a Google search on the demigod. It’s a bad idea, as she discovers the internet is a mixed bag when it comes to Loki. There are the standard news reports, a Wikipedia article, some interviews with the Avengers... then there are the fan pages. And wow, does Loki have a following…

Rosalyn tilts her head to the side at an image of the trickster in his battle armor, little pink hearts edited in around his helmet. She admits he isn’t hideous. He might even be considered attractive, if it weren’t for the whole destroying the city thing. While he was a supposedly reformed villain, there was still something sly about him. A vibe that made her cautious.

She scrolls through, quite enjoying the collection of photos on this page. There’s lots with Loki looking severely annoyed in the background, while Thor poses with fans. Rosalyn finds her smile growing at the irritation he harbors over his brother’s fame. Then she lands on another picture of him in his armor. What is up with that helmet? She wonders if the antler-looking decorations are made of metal. Wouldn’t they be ridiculously heavy?

“Admiring my horns?”

Rosalyn jerks, dropping her phone from where she’d been holding it above her face. It smacks her on the cheekbone before she can scramble to push herself upright on the couch. Loki’s leering beside her, a smile emerging as he sees the shock he’s caused.

For one moment, she panics at the realization that Loki has somehow let himself in to her apartment. Then she attempts to regain a shred of dignity, moving to the other end of the couch and straightening herself. The Asgardian cocks an eyebrow expectantly.

“They are rather large horns,” she remarks dryly.

“There is a crude joke to be made here,” Loki observes, sounding bored as he drops down to sit opposite her. “Of that I am certain.”

“Of course, we could go that route,” Rosalyn retorts. Her heart is still beating too fast after Loki’s abrupt interruption. “But I was thinking more along the lines of questioning which is larger: your horns or your ego?”

“You think I’m egotistical?” he asks. “Is that what the Google says?”

Rosalyn narrows her eyes. “The Google says a lot about you. Though it failed to mention you appearing in someone’s home, unwelcome.”

Loki narrows his eyes right back at her. “Am I unwelcome? Shall I leave, so you can continue your digital stalking of me in peace?”

Rosalyn’s temper flares, as it seems to have a habit of doing around Loki. “You have some nerve, accusing me of stalking,” she snaps. “You’ve broken into my home-”

“Is it breaking in if nothing is broken?”

“-you followed me to see where I live-”

“I followed you once, perhaps twice. That’s hardly stalking,” he says dismissively.

Rosalyn’s mouth is hanging open at his attitude. Loki’s eyes dance between hers, a glint of amusement in the cold blue. She gives up on making her point, sighing with a roll of her eyes.

“Fine,” she concedes. “You win that argument.”

“Was that an argument?” Loki asks mockingly. “If so, you’re exceedingly bad at arguing.”

Rosalyn stares at him in disbelief. “Are you trying to piss me off? Is that your goal here?”

“I keep hoping to see something…” he begins, his focus dropping from her eyes to roam down her face and body. “Well, something more than…this.” He gives a vague wave at her.

She raises her eyebrows, beginning to understand. “Wait…you think if you get me mad, I’ll drop my appearance?”

The prince smirks. “It was worth a try.”

“It’s not an illusion, I don’t have to focus on it every moment to maintain it,” Rosalyn points out.

Loki moves forward suddenly, catching her off guard to lean towards her. The space seems smaller with the tall god of lies looming over her. She presses backwards, into the arm of the couch.

“I’ve known other shapeshifters, though none from Midgard,” he says thoughtfully. “When threatened, they quite enjoyed taking on an intimidating shape…”

“I apologize if you were expecting me to turn into a lion,” she says. Loki cocks his head curiously, only leaning forward more. His calculating eyes seem to make a note of her discomfort, but he doesn’t back off. Her heartbeat, which had finally calmed down, finds a quick pace again.

“Not a lion, no,” he muses. “Perhaps something more than this diminutive shape, however.”

His gaze drops down from her eyes yet again, trailing her figure. Rosalyn doesn’t like how he’s looking at her…Or perhaps she does like it, and that is the problem. Either way, she finds herself wanting to retreat. She slides off the couch awkwardly, pacing across the room.

“I don’t change shapes with my moods,” she says tersely. “I am in the shape I’m paid to be in.”

“But what fun is that?” Loki presses, changing position.

She looks back at him, sprawling across the couch like he owns it. He looks entirely too comfortable, given that he just intimidated her right off her own furniture.

“It’s not about fun, it’s about my job,” Rosalyn corrects.

He searches her eyes a moment, some of the amusement leaving his features. “Is that all you use your talents for?” he asks, sounding disappointed. “With the power you have, darling mutant… you should have fun for yourself, on occasion.”

“And what, exactly, is your idea of fun?” she asks.

Loki sits up, giving her a slow smile. Then, with a wink, he is gone. Rosalyn stares at the empty couch, stomach sinking. Surely, that can’t have meant anything good.

**Later**

“I am so, so sorry to have kept you waiting,” Steve apologizes for the third time as they exit the elevator on his floor.

“It’s fine,” Rosalyn assures, surveying his face with concern. His handsome features are marred with bruising. “I don’t mind. Are you sure you’re up for cooking, though? Your face looks like someone kicked it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve gives a slight chuckle as he unlocks the door, holding it open for her to enter his apartment. “Someone did.”

Her eyebrows shoot up with alarm. “Shouldn’t you be icing that, or something? If you want to reschedule-”

“No, no,” he insists, helping her to shrug off her coat. “I’m fine, and the bruising will be gone in a few hours.”

“If you insist,” Rosalyn concedes, frowning. “I feel awful having you cook after being in a fight, though. We could just order in?”

To her surprise, something about what she’s said strikes Rogers as funny. He smiles, trying to withhold laughter as he hangs her coat up for her. “I’m used to making dinner after a fight. It was something of a habit for me, back in the day.”

She gives him a skeptical look. “Were you a brawler, then? Before becoming a super soldier?”

That proves to be too much, and the laugh escapes him. Steve shakes his head in disagreement. “I was great at picking fights, but not so good at finishing them.”

Rosalyn smiles, amused at the thought. He has struck her as level headed so far, so she’s curious what sorts of things would make him pick a fight. Especially back in the day, before his transformation. The file had made him out to be smaller and weaker before becoming Captain America. Apparently, he hadn’t let that stop him.

Steve’s eyes linger on hers, a good-natured grin clinging to his lips. She wonders if those features are the same now as they had been before the serum. His eyes are pretty, though she can’t tell if they’re blue or green at this distance.

Rosalyn drops her gaze, suddenly aware that the silence has stretched on a moment too long between them. “I’ll put some music on?” she offers. “What are you in the mood for?”

“You pick,” Steve says. “If it were up to me, I’d always listen to the same few songs.”

She wanders across the living room to examine his vinyl collection. Though he has a modern stereo, she’s noticed he prefers the record player. She looks through them carefully, searching for something relaxing.

“I can show you how the record player works,” Steve offers, joining her.

Rosalyn turns to give him a smile, cocking an eyebrow. “You assume I don’t know how a record player works?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, but not with anger. Rather, he looks somewhere between intrigued and suspicious. “First swing dancing, now this? Did you study before you took my charity case?”

“You aren’t a charity case,” Rosalyn chides. “And I hate to break it to you, but I’ve got my own vinyl at home.”

His eyes flicker between hers, and she still finds herself puzzling over the correct color for them. It’s somewhere between green and blue, though she’s leaning more towards blue in this lighting.

“Is it just the appearance that you control?” Steve asks quietly. “Or is it personality, too?”

Rosalyn is taken aback at first by his question. “Do you mean my shapeshifting? It’s only my physical appearance.”

There’s something wary, almost distrusting, in his expression. He struggles a moment to explain himself. “You just… You’re very… different. From most women I’ve met in this time.”

“You aren’t the only one with an unusual history,” she admits. “My handler did say we might have that in common.”

Steve looks curious at that, but he seems as reluctant to pursue the topic as she is. Rosalyn doesn’t want to push him to delve into the past, anymore than she wants to divulge more about herself. But it’s almost inevitable, that much she can tell. Steve isn’t the type to open up without honesty in return.

For now, she chooses a record, giving him a hesitant look once the music starts. The wariness has eased from him, and he gives her a tentative smile when he hears her choice. Her heart reacts, speeding up at the expression and how close he is. Rosalyn ignores it, trying to keep her cool.

Only once they’ve drifted into the kitchen, Steve pulling out ingredients to begin cooking, does she realize she’s in dangerous territory. So many years of working, and she’s never so much as had a crush on a client. But now Steve Rogers might ruin that spotless record.


	6. Ch. 6

Steve rounds the table to pick up her empty plate. “More?” he offers.

“I couldn’t possibly, I’m so full,” she insists, smiling. “Thank you so much. You’re an amazing chef.”

He returns the smile, heading into the kitchen with their plates. “Thank you, for reassuring me. For a while there, I was convinced Bucky was just telling me that so I’d keep cooking for him.”

Rosalyn grabs some of the other dishes off the table, attempting to help with clearing it. She joins him in the kitchen, putting the dishes down to open the dishwasher for him. Steve slides the rinsed plates into two slots.

“Bucky? That was your childhood friend?” she checks. The name rings a bell from the file, but even more from the museum exhibit about the Super Soldier. She wonders if the exhibit is still open, now that he has returned to the world.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Steve confirms quietly. “I think it was his way of helping me out when times were tough, you know? He acted like it was a fair trade. He’d buy the food, I’d cook.”

“After eating your cooking, I would agree it is an entirely fair trade,” Rosalyn admits honestly. That earns her the slightest little twitch of his lips upwards, but it’s obvious the topic of Bucky has brought on a sadness.

“Should I put the music back on?” she offers, hoping to steer away from anything too serious just yet.

“Sure,” he agrees. “Would you like something more modern? I don’t know what’s good nowadays… Do you have any suggestions?”

She raises her eyebrows up, feigning being taken aback. He’d been perfectly happy with the big band singles before dinner. Perhaps he’s feeling a bit more daring now. Either way, she looks for some guidance in what to offer.

“Well, now, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a girl,” Rosalyn teases. “Can we narrow it down to a genre, perhaps?”

Steve finishes loading the last dish into the dishwasher, shutting it. He furrows his brow for a moment, before shrugging.

“To be honest, I still need to catch up on everything after the 50’s,” he replies.

“Ah!” Rosalyn smiles reassuringly. “Well, you’ve got your British invasion in the 60’s, as well as rock becoming very popular. The 70’s was this strange battle between disco and punk rock. 80’s… Entirely too much synthesizer, and all about MTV and the music video. The 90’s was another weird mix, with grunge, rap, and pop. Everything since then has been a blend of all those different things.”

It’s not until the end of her tour of the musical decades that she realizes he is looking at her strangely. Steve says nothing, or perhaps he is holding himself back from speaking. There is something thoughtful, scrutinizing almost, in his eyes. She cocks her head slightly, unsure how to read him.

“What are you thinking?” she asks finally.

“I know a gentleman is never supposed to ask a lady this, but…” he hesitates, seeming uncomfortable with his own pending question. “How…How old are you?”

She isn’t expecting that. The surprise must show on her face, because Steve’s expression immediately falls with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no!” she rushes to recover. “It’s a perfectly valid thing to wonder, given how my appearance can be changed.”

“You don’t have to answer,” Steve insists. “That was rude of me.”

“It’s not rude,” Rosalyn replies. “It’s all part of getting to know each other, I just…wasn’t expecting to discuss it so soon. I…” she takes a quick breath, trying to settle her nerves. “I am not quite a centenarian, but I am getting there.”

He looks stunned. “That’s-Wow. Does it have to do with your powers?”

She looks away from his face, trying to ignore the complicated emotions that always arise when she talks about her history. “I think so, yes,” she confirms. “I’ve never been… studied. But I think because of what I can do, my cells must be able to regenerate themselves. So I can be as old…or as young, as I choose.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, making her feel nervous. This is usually the part where things take an unfortunate turn. It’s never gone well, opening up with someone like this so soon. She’s seen a range of responses to this revelation about her age. Yet, she hadn’t wanted to jeopardize what little trust she might have earned so far with not answering.

She finally steels herself, looking up to find Steve’s gaze fixated on her. To her relief, there isn’t disgust or discomfort on his face.

“That’s amazing,” he says softly, voice earnest. “You’re…like a miracle.”

Rosalyn is caught off guard with that. She turns away, surprised to feel tears pooling in her eyes. Her attempts to hide her reaction fail, however, as Steve notices immediately.

“I said something wrong,” he realizes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t,” Rosalyn insists, shaking her head and trying to force an awkward laugh of embarrassment. “I’ve just… I’ve never had anyone say anything quite like that, when they find that out about me. Usually, it’s… well, the opposite.”

She turns back to him when she’s certain she’s gotten ahold of herself, trying to give him a reassuring grin. Steve’s expression is serious, his eyes studying hers. He’s got a way of focusing in on a person that makes her nervous, and she wonders if she will ever get used to it. Isn’t she supposed to be the one getting him to open up?

Rosalyn attempts to backtrack, to get them back to a more casual topic. “It doesn’t matter now,” she says, trying to make her voice lighter. “It’s in the past.”

He shakes his head, mercifully releasing her from his gaze to look away. “I never understood why people say that. ‘It’s in the past’, I mean. People say that like it means they shouldn’t feel the way they do,” Steve says thoughtfully, musing aloud. “But the past is all we know, it’s everything we know for certain. Why wouldn’t it still affect us?”

She considers what he’s said, and it is certainly valid. Her work experience certainly backs him up. What people wanted, or needed, or had always been missing… It all traced back to their history. But she can’t help but think that most people aspire to be more than a sum of their past.

“I suppose people say that to try to set themselves free,” she replies carefully. “If you acknowledge something is in the past, then that means the future could be different. If only we could be different.”

Steve’s lips curve, into the smallest of smiles. “I like that,” he admits. “It’s optimistic.”

Rosalyn finds herself smiling back, but blanking on a response. She almost never struggles to find words, but her thoughts are scattered, distracted by how close they are standing. Had he been this close just a moment before?

Steve is even more attractive when she lets herself really study him. Even with the bruising on his cheekbones, he’s beautiful. Rosalyn resists the urge to raise her fingertips to the bluish hue staining his skin, her eyes dancing down to his lips. They look tempting…

She looks away, shame hitting her. This isn’t good. How can she possibly do her job in any professional manner, if she’s getting dreamy for her client?

Her attention is pulled to her hand, resting on the counter, when Steve’s brushes over hers. She watches his fingers ghost across her knuckles, in the slightest caress. When she looks back up, his cheeks are dusted a faint pink, his expression self-conscious.

“I’m glad I’ve met you,” he admits softly.

That sets her heart off, hammering away in her chest like she’s a hormonal teenager again. Rosalyn ignores it, focusing on keeping her voice steady.

“I’m glad I’ve met you, too,” she replies.

**Later**

Rosalyn’s mind is preoccupied as she returns home, and even if it weren’t, she’d never spot the green glimmer that follows her. She’s silent, stuck in her own thoughts while the driver takes her back to her building.

When she gets inside her apartment, she takes her coat off in a hurry. Then she fishes her phone out of her purse, dialing Mica. The late hour doesn’t matter to her. For the commission her handler earns, she can deal with an untimely phone call.

“Roz? Are you alright?” Mica answers on the third ring.

“No. I’m not alright.”

Rosalyn tries to sit on the couch, to find some semblance of calm. But after a night of being around Steve Rogers, sitting close and catching his shy smiles, calm is evading her. She jumps back up in favor of pacing her living room.

“What’s wrong!?” Mica asks. The music that was audible in the background fades, as her handler apparently finds a quieter area to speak.

“I… I’ve got… There’s…” Rosalyn stutters, wincing her eyes closed. She hates even trying to admit it, finally forcing the words out in a rush. “I’m attracted to the client.”

Mica is silent for a long moment, before hysterical laughter comes through the phone speaker. “Well, of course you’re attracted to the client.”

“Mica-” Rosalyn attempts to talk, but is interrupted.

“He’s-” Mica drops her voice down to a whisper, trying not to be overheard. “He’s Captain freaking America, who doesn’t find him attractive? Have you seen his ass in that star spangled getup? When I die, I’d like a picture of that ass on the lid of my coffin-”

“Mica! This isn’t funny,” Rosalyn interrupts. “This could seriously compromise my ability to do my job.”

“How? Your job is to get him to open up and talk, and enjoy life a little more. Last I checked, sex made men enjoy life more,” Mica says bluntly.

“I’m not paid to have sex with him,” Rosalyn hisses, offended.

“Yet, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve used it to accomplish your goals,” Mica points out shrewdly. “We’ve worked together a long time, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Roz.”

“I have standards,” Rosalyn protests through clenched teeth. Her handler is completely missing the point, and she feels her face growing hot with anger.

“Mmhmm. And Captain America doesn’t meet your standards?” the other woman snaps. “Look, you’ve already signed on the dotted line. You’re going to have to work through it.”

Rosalyn stops her pacing to glare at her wall. Mica isn’t getting it. If she ends up getting feelings for her client, her mind won’t be clear enough to approach the situation in the way she needs to. Work is about giving her clients what they need, not letting her own desires get in the way.

“Thank you for your support,” Rosalyn says icily. “I’ll have to remember this when I’m looking for another handler to manage my affairs.”

Mica seems to know she’s been too dismissive, making a noise of disagreement. But Rosalyn doesn’t give the other woman a chance to speak again, hanging up the call and flinging her phone onto her couch.

Talking has done nothing to ease her worries. Now she just feels disgruntled, too. Eventually Rosalyn wonders into her kitchen, making herself a cup of herbal tea. By the time the mug is empty, she feels a little more at ease.

Perhaps this doesn’t have to interfere in her work, she reasons. She could set up clear boundaries, rules to ensure she doesn’t stray from her job. She also imagines that, with time, she’ll get used to Steve’s charm and smile. Perhaps it won’t even affect her once they get to be friends…

Rosalyn tries to stop thinking about it for now, taking a hot shower to make herself sleepy. Then she clicks off the lights, crawling into bed. She’s still awake, sleep just beginning to tease her senses, when the brilliant green flash lights up the room.


	7. Ch. 7

Rosalyn pushes herself up on her elbows, her heart pounding as she is startled awake. Her eyes search the dark room for a moment, before focusing on the shape in the corner. Someone’s standing there, his tall silhouette distinct enough that she can immediately recognize him.

“Loki?” she asks. Irritation replaces the fear, at this newest intrusion by the trickster.

“Present.”

She huffs at his snarky tone. This is getting to be ridiculous. He can’t keep popping up whenever he likes, startling her when she’s about to fall asleep. Rosalyn stretches towards the bedside table, reaching for the light switch. Her hand is shaking enough that she fumbles to turn it on, blinking against the sudden light. Loki is illuminated, and she’s only taken aback for a moment by the fact he’s wearing rather casual clothes.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

He steps forward, his expression an interesting mix of curiosity and frustration. “Interesting,” Loki remarks. “Even in the privacy of your own bedchambers, you sleep in the form the Soldier prefers.”

“Is that why you’re waking me up at three in the morning?” Rosalyn asks in disbelief. “To try to catch my guard down?”

“Why do you sleep with a guard up?” Loki quips.

She pushes herself up to a seated position, fixating him with a glare. “You just invaded my home, again, without permission. Where do you get off?”

“You mortals have such curious turns of phrase,” Loki says thoughtfully. “But if you insist, I can show you where I get off.”

Rosalyn’s mouth drops open when she realizes he’s somehow trying to twist this conversation into flirtatious territory. He’s even grinning, as if he’s quite pleased with himself. Is this how he behaved on Asgard? Just invading everyone’s privacy and being a cocky smart mouth? No wonder they called him the god of mischief. She thinks he’s rather lucky they didn’t call him the god of being a pain in the ass.

She regains her composure, rolling her eyes. It’s not even worth it to explain to him, again, that it is easier to keep her current form than switch back and forth.

“Well, now that you’ve failed to indulge your desire to see me differently… May I go back to sleep?” she asks.

“Certainly,” Loki agrees. “As soon as you drop this illusion.”

Rosalyn narrows her eyes, struggling to maintain patience. She tries to remain calm because she knows losing her cool is exactly what he is after. And she is stubborn enough to not give him what he wants. She finds an even tone to reply to him.

“Who do you think you are, to come into my bedroom, uninvited, and demand me to do anything?” she asks.

“Well, I am a god,” he points out. “But if you prefer, I can think myself to be someone else.”

There’s a shimmer over Loki’s body, his smirk the last thing she sees before he changes appearance. Suddenly, Steve is standing in her bedroom. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, as if waiting for her reaction. She stares at him, unimpressed.

Loki strolls forward, stopping at the foot of the bed to give her a sly smile that looks misplaced on Steve’s face. “Is this better? Now we can both be illusions.”

Rosalyn shakes her head, looking away from Loki. “Stop that.”

“I’ll stop this, as soon as you show me your true form,” he retorts.

“I’ve told you, I have no true form.”

Steve’s laugh meets her ears, though it sounds harsher coming from Loki. “I’m the god of lies, and yet it saddens me that I hear the lie in that more than you do.”

She crosses her arms. “Stop looking like my client,” she orders.

“Stop looking like your client’s whore,” he replies easily.

Her eyebrows shoot up hearing the term in Steve’s voice, as she’s relatively sure the real Steve would be blushing after saying something like that. Instead, however, she’s met with the cool smile of a god who knows he’s frayed her last nerve.

Rosalyn has had enough of humoring him. She searches the base levels of his mind, pulling from him the opposite of what she usually needs. Rather than what he sexually desires, she takes the opposite. The connection comes easier this time, perhaps because she’d already acquainted herself with him before.

As soon as she has it, Rosalyn begins the change. Her body grows taller… much, much taller. Though she can’t yet visualize what she is becoming, she can feel her shoulders broadening, her limbs spanning outwards. Her poor nightgown is ripped at the seams, unable to contain the new body within it. Her hands and feet are massive, her chest huge. Her body is heavy with muscle, heavy enough that the bed creaks beneath her weight.

Loki recoils immediately, wearing an expression of disgust on Steve’s face. “That’s hardly fair,” he complains. “I at least stuck with someone you found attractive.”

Rosalyn laughs, but it comes out in a booming thunder. Whoever’s body she is mimicking, he has a much deeper voice than she is accustomed to. “Who am I, to make you wrinkle your nose like that?” she asks.

“My brother,” Loki answers, sounding irritated. It thrills her that she has annoyed him in return, and she chuckles again.

“Thank you for the laugh, god of mischief,” she taunts. “Am I beating you at your own game?”

A shimmer covers Steve’s body, and Loki shifts again. This time, he turns into her. Or rather, her previous form. The long, brunette curls, the classically beautiful face, the ample curves. It’s strange, looking at the person she has grown accustomed to being the last couple weeks. She never truly identified with any shape she took on, but she had grown fond of the one she had taken for Steve.

“I enjoy games far too much to yield to your victory so soon,” Loki says, using her voice in a flirty tone. He rounds the bed, drawing closer to her. “Now, please stop projecting my brother wearing a silken chemise. I don’t need reminded of Thrym.”

“What is Thrym?” she asks curiously, stretching to make a show of getting comfortable in Thor’s body.

Loki narrows his eyes with annoyance. “The question would be ‘Who is Thrym’, but that is a question for another time.”

“You woke me up in the middle of the night,” Rosalyn points out. “Now I’m up, and I am curious why your brother wearing lingerie seems to have triggered some past trauma for you.”

She takes a great deal of enjoyment out of the frustration that is plain on her former face. Loki is clearly not pleased she’s found this way to annoy him. He scowls down at her, pursing her lips.

“Stop it, before I go meddle with your super soldier,” he threatens.

She narrows her eyes. “You better not.”

“It is not an empty threat.”

Rosalyn heaves a sigh, before focusing. She knows she shouldn’t keep changing, that she should return to her previous form. She’s going to drain herself of energy and end up crashing, and yet… The temptation to continue getting a rise out of Loki is too much. Serves him right, after all, for continuing to violate boundaries.

Her height shrinks by a couple inches, her width narrowing. But she doesn’t shrink back down to her regular form, her body staying tall and masculine. The ridiculously large muscles of Thor’s body turn to lithe strength, the golden hair darkening to black. Her skin grows paler, as she finalizes her change into becoming a mimic of Loki.

She smirks up at him, to see if he’s impressed with her taking on his appearance. Loki, still looking like her female form, raises his eyebrows. It is an odd moment, as they examine each other in switched bodies.

“This is weird,” she remarks curiously, looking down at herself. The sheets are still covering her from the waist down, but she can feel that the chemise is much too short on Loki’s body. She grins mischievously, reaching for the sheets as if to pull them down.

Loki immediately makes a noise, grabbing her hand. She looks up to see him narrowing his eyes. “You filthy deviant,” he accuses, his voice mockingly scandalized.

She can’t stop herself from smiling, a genuine grin at the humor of the game they are playing. But then Loki moves, releasing her hand to reach up to her face. She freezes, as the atmosphere between them shifts rapidly. Loki strokes her cheek, just once. Though the movement is tentative, it is surprisingly intimate. That flirtatiousness that had been peeking out from him before is back.

She shifts again, suddenly wanting to retreat. They've crossed some sort of line, and she hastens to return to herself instead of let that moment continue. Her body shrinks, the curves reappearing, her height rapidly condensing. She takes on her former shape, though the nightgown is long ruined, tattered at the seams from what it has had to endure. She pulls the sheet up over her chest to compensate.

When she looks back up, Loki has taken the hint. The shimmer fades, and she’s looking at his true form once again. Loki’s lips curve downwards just slightly, the barest hint of a frown.

“That felt too real, didn’t it?” he asks quietly.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Rosalyn insists.

“Liar,” Loki accuses, but his voice is gentle. He sits beside her, though he is careful to leave a bit of space between their bodies. The taunting, mischievous air to him is gone. When she catches his gaze again, he looks contemplative.

“Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you,” he thinks aloud.

Rosalyn settles down, feeling the exhaustion start to creep in to her body. She’d already known she was pushing it, doing too much. It’s catching up with her, now that the thrill is fading. She’s drained her energy, tired her body by demanding too much of it in such a short amount of time.

“What?” she asks, suppressing a yawn. “You are drawn to me?”

Loki smiles, and her pulse jumps at the authenticity of it. His sly little smirks were so fake, but this smile is real enough to affect her.

“How could I not be?” he asks. “You are addicted to lies.”

“I don’t lie to people,” she argues.

“No,” he disagrees. “You lie to yourself.”

She looks away from his knowing gaze, feeling the urge to shrink into herself. As much as she hates talking about herself, she hates it even more that he’s seen past what she says. There was never a point to letting anyone in, they were always after something. And if someone got through her defenses, then that made it all the easier for them to use her.

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” she says, clinging on to awareness. Her body is crashing harder, her limbs growing weak. Her mind feels fuzzy, and it puts her on the defensive.

“With me? Or anyone?” Loki asks.

Rosalyn shakes her head slightly. “I don’t trust you…”

“Of course not,” he agrees gently. “You’re smart to not trust a trickster.”

She can feel her body giving in to its need, relaxing into the mattress. No amount of clinging to consciousness will delay it for long. She blinks against sleep stubbornly, trying to keep her eyes open. Loki seems aware of her state, his concerned eyes catching hers.

“I’ve pushed you too far, haven’t I?” he asks, frowning.

“I just… need to sleep…” she mumbles. “I did too much.”

He finds the comforter, pulling it up over the sheet to tuck her in. She feels the warmth it provides settling over her, her eyes already falling closed. She can't find the energy to open them again.

“I’m sorry, darling mutant,” Loki apologizes, but she doesn’t answer. She’s slipping under, her senses giving way to nothingness.


End file.
